Thursday, February 11, 2010

Snow? Bring it on. We can handle it. Sort of.

You know how you always tell yourself, "Wow! Wouldn't it be cool if I could just stay in the house for a few days with my family and not have anywhere to go or anything to do?"

Um. Yeah.

It has been real, but I'm glad to be back to normal.

Well, as normal as it gets with 15 inches of snow on the ground and freezing temperatures. And reports of more snow to come. But don't quote me on that, because it's not like my middle name is Doppler Weather or anything.

I love snow. I'm a midwestern girl through and through, so bring it on. I can handle it. But you must seriously overestimate my love for snow if you think I'm going to hang outside in it for hours. See? I know how to make a snow angel.

But after about 20 minutes, the warm indoors and a cup of hot cocoa beckons. Yes, I love the snow, but I'm also a wimp, and if you look closely, there are not 15 inches of snow on the ground in this picture. Come on now. Any CSI novice could see that. This picture was taken a few weeks ago when it snowed. So have I been outside frolicking in the latest batch of snow? a word....NO. It's cold out there, people.

Anyhoo. We had TWO snow days this week. FOUR kids + ONE mom - ONE dad that went off to work each day = STIR CRAZY.

Oh, and did I mention that I'm now "on the wagon", too?

No, not that wagon. The Diet Coke wagon.

Darn you, researchers. You know, the same researchers that have told us that if we drink more than two sodas a week, we increase our risk for pancreatic cancer by 87%. And I definitely drink more than two "DC's" a week. Actually, multiply two by 24 and you might be in the ballpark. Ish.

DC is my liquid. My mother's milk. My manna from heaven. My homie. My little fizzy friend that goes so well on the rocks. (That's on ice, people.) I prefer my DC straight from the fountain, but since I don't live inside of a gas station or a McDonald's, I'll take it out of the can. (The two-liters will suffice in a pinch, but they get stale too quickly.)

And now DC is just sitting in my pantry, all forlorn, sad, the tab ready to be popped, but nothing. Crickets. Total un-fizzy silence.

I went COLD TURKEY. Cold....gobble...gobble.

Here are my priorities in life:

  • God.
  • My marriage.
  • My children.
  • Diet Coke.
Sorry, Mom and Dad. I know you gave birth to me and all, and you love me, but I'll slide you in right behind the DC.

But here's the good news, Mom and Dad, because you might move up a notch! Some poopy-headed (Can you tell I have been stuck in the house with four kids for two days with this language?) researcher had to go and take away my only vice. I don't gamble. I don't overspend. I love wine, but I'm an occasional drinker. Smoking is just sooo last millenium, and you know, there's the little detail that it will KILL you. But DC? DC is just smooth, tasty goodness. And I abhor the flavor or coffee, so it gives me a sugary, sweet caffeine fix.

However, I have...ahem...maturely decided that I love my pancreas more than DC, so...sigh...I am now on the wagon. And I hate this frigging wagon. It is un-fizzy and tastes very much like plain ice water. Blech.

Caffeine withdrawal headaches, anyone? I have plenty, and for all of you that are all, "I never get headaches, what do they feel like?" feel free to come on over, and I'll hit you in the head a few times with full, unopened cans of Diet Coke, just so you can see what it feels like.

Of course, I am not kicking the habit entirely. I have just decided that DC is now my weekend jam.

So let me revise my earlier math problem. FOUR kids + ONE mom who is undergoing serious caffeine withdrawal - ONE dad that went off to work each day = STIR CRAZY.

Oh, and did I mention that George's bedroom smells like rotting fish carcass?

Word to the wise. If you have gills and scales and can only breathe underwater, then do not come live at my house. Because we will kill you. We will not kill you on purpose, of course, we will just kill you by overfeeding you, or forgetting to feed you, or not cleaning your water, or whatever the heck else is killing all the fish that are unlucky enough to reside here at Casa de Really Nice Family, But Unfortunate Skills When It Comes to Owning Pets of the Aquatic Persuasion.

First, there was Golfie, George's orange betta fish that I told you about a few months ago. He lived for 6 months. Golfie was succeeded by Swimmer, George's blue betta fish that lived for about 5 months. Swimmer was succeeded by Bluey, a cobalt blue betta fish that lived for an unfortunate SIX days.

Moment of silence.

But as much as we can probably take reluctant credit (overfeeding, not cleaning the tank enough) for the unfortunate demises of Golfie and Swimmer, Bluey was not our fault. Because guess what, you guys? They sold us an ALIEN fish at the pet store. So you know, it's not your fault when you buy a blue, otherworldly, alien fish and it dies.

Allow me to explain.

Bluey was the prettiest of all the fishes that have taken up residence here at Casa de...blah, blah, blah. He was a bright, cobalt blue fish with fins like feathers that would swoosh as he happily swam in his tank. But on Sunday morning, as Bill went into George's room to get George dressed for church, Bill turned around and saw that Bluey was dead. But not just dead. He was, and I'm trying to describe this as best as I can, ENCASED in a bubble-like thing, with a brownish fuzz surrounding his now brownish body like a halo.

Seriously. I tried several times to take a picture of it for you, but to no avail. The water became cloudy when he passed on, and I just cannot fully capture it for you on my Canon. And also because alien fish don't like to be photographed once they die, so they sabotage your camera with electromagnetic waves or something, disallowing it to be captured on film.

Enough of my fancy science talk. The fish is dead. Yet, George does not want to have his funeral until we can replace him with "Jack," the currently named, but as of this moment, un-purchased betta fish. Because the snow. The snow has held off the ceremonial Purchasing of the Betta Fish Who Will Live With Our Family for An As-Yet Undetermined Amount of Time Before Seeing the Light and Being Called Home to Fishy Heaven.

Yes, there is a fishy heaven in the sky. It is reached by flushing your toilet.

You know, I could make about ten different potty jokes about the toilet and heaven right now, but I'll leave it at that. Because my blog is KLASSY. With a "K".

Okay. Math problem time. For the past two days, we have had FOUR kids + ONE mom who is undergoing serious caffeine withdrawal - ONE dad that went off to work each day + ONE rotting, alien fish carcass = STIR CRAZY.

But other than that, it's been fun. The kids mostly got along, we turned some rotting bananas into chocolate chip banana bread and banana smoothies, we hit the Play-Doh, I whined about the new Facebook layout, and we had a few dance parties in the kitchen. Our current favorite tune to hit the floor to? "Bad Romance" by Lady GaGa. Minus the part about romance, it's the perfect kid's song. She sings, "GA GA, RA MA MA, GA GA OOH LA LA," which is like total kid talk. So yeah.

And we only had ONE bedroom door that the kids "accidentally" slammed so hard that a hinge popped off of it, in the past TWO days.

And YES, I am bragging about that.

But it's all good, and that's a story for another day.

Thanks, snow. I guess you're not so bad.

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